THE TOWEL
by K.A. Cosby
Summary: A few months ago Jerry, Elaine, Kramer and George were released. Pendant Publishing offers to publish Elaine's experiences in jail. George is adapting to life outside prison. Jerry is dating his parole officer. And Kramer has found a way to be a part of a wealthy gated community.


**The Towel**

**1 A Wealthy Neighborhood**

George stepped out of the car, and stared at it as though it were a misbehaving child, who if given the right look would fall back in line. But the car did nothing of the sort. Instead, it coughed one last time and died in the middle of the road.

Oversized houses rose up around him, a prefabricated canyon of ostentation. He had never remembered being in quite so ritzy a neighborhood. Perhaps when he visited one of the heads of NBC, but that really wasn't a neighborhood. After all, one would have to walk a few blocks before reaching the next neighbor.

"That stupid Kramer." George cursed up to heaven. "I'd never be out here if weren't for him and one of his 'solids.'" George did not normally give in to Kramer's requests for "a solid." But this time he really owed Kramer a favor—one he was was certain he would never finish paying back.

According to the directions Kramer had given him, Bob Sacamano's house was at the end of the block. All he had to do was get there and call a mechanic, and the car would be taken care of. Then he would pick up the bird cage. And that was it. Simple, right?

Another glance around the neighborhood revealed more than just showiness. Something strange had happened. George could have sworn that just a few minutes earlier he had seen children playing in the yards. Frolicking, maybe. He wondered if anyone still used that word. It didn't seem that children these days were as prone to frolicking as they once had been. To wandering, maybe. To loitering, definitely. But not to frolicking.

Now the streets were desolate. Curtains in a few windows rose cautiously toward the frames. A face would peer—even sneer—out the glass. A man in his garage called out to George "What are you doing? You shouldn't be here."

Another man came out to the edge of his yard. "Listen, you need to go back into the city. We don't like your kind. If you don't leave, we'll have to call the police."

"But I'm…" he tried to explain about Bob Sacamano and "the solid" and the bird cage. But it all jumbled into some story about a man who gave out solid bird cages to goofy friends with broken down cars.

The sirens were the next thing George heard. But he didn't start running until he saw the barking dogs.

"We live in a society here." He shouted over his shoulder, seeing the dogs close the distance.

**2 Jerry's Apartment**

"Which do you like best?" Jerry held out two nearly identical button-up shirts—one with pink pinstripes and the other with blue.

Elaine draped herself across the couch, dropping Jujyfruits into her mouth one by one.

"This one? Or this one?" Jerry thrust forth one and then the other.

Elaine scrunched her face, silent.

The apartment was a year older. Little had changed save a few bits of evidence that it had been watched over by uncle Leo's son, Jeffrey, during the nine months Jerry, Elaine, George and Kramer had spent in prison. Jeffrey had been laid off from the Park Service and was back in New York City working at Papi's pizza joint.

Despite the few remnants of Jeffrey's presence, nothing had changed. The same stereo and the same superman statue stood on the shelf. The same green un-ridden Klein bicycle hung on the wall in the hallway. And Elaine sat on the same couch she had prior to that ill-conceived and unsuccessful trip to Paris.

"Jerry" the television show had still been produced and flopped. Since Jerry had been up the river, the leading role had gone to Banya, which meant that every one of the five episodes had been dedicated to Ovaltine in one way or another. Banya had even given the butler duties to campaign for changing the name to Roundtine.

Kramer burst through the door, sliding across the floor and landing against Jerry whose shirts flew over the couch and onto Elaine.  
"You've got to come with me, Jerr. My car is in the shop, and my friend Bob Sacamano just bought a house. A rich one."

Elaine lifted the shirts off her one by one, dropped another handful of Jujyfruits into her mouth. "Now, what are the shirts for?"

Jerry glanced at Kramer and then turned back to Elaine. "I just got a new parole officer. A woman, and I want to make a good impression." Jerry took the shirts from Elaine, turned on the iron and folded out the ironing board.

"I'd go with the yellow one." Kramer said. "So are you going to come with me or not?"

Jerry's lip curled up against his teeth. "I don't think so." He laid the blue shirt on the ironing board. "And I've got my meeting anyway."  
"Don't look at me." Elaine sat up. "I have plans. An editor friend at Pendant Publishing wants me to write a book about our experience in jail with the Good Samaritan Law. They think it could be a bestseller. So I'm off to pitch it to the executives."

Jerry, Elaine and Kramer had been released from prison on good behavior a few months earlier. George was let out a month later because of an incident involving an éclair and a gang of skinheads.

"You're killing me." Kramer opened the refrigerator door, leaned in and then stood up.

Jerry had already begun running the iron across the shirt.

"Is this meeting with the new blonde parole officer?" Kramer leaned back into the refrigerator as if somehow a new region of the shelf had been illuminated.

"Yep."

This time Kramer came out with a bottle of Sunny Delight. "Pay dirt." He put the bottle on the table. "Oh, yes. I saw her the other day when I was visiting with Officer Rhodes. She's a real looker. Yes, indeed." He raised an eyebrow, poured a glass and left the carton on the bar.

Elaine moved toward Kramer. "I guess I'll just have to see her."

Kramer finished the glass and set it back down.

The intercom buzzed. Jerry gently stood the iron on end and approached the door. "Yeah?"

"It's George."

"Come on up." Jerry opened the door a crack.

"You know," Elaine said, "I think they take a dim view of parole officers who date the parolees. At least that's what I've heard."

"I'm not going to date her. I just want to make a good impression. It's important in a monitor-monitee relationship."

"Well, good luck with that. I'm off." Kramer said reaching for the door.

"Thanks for stopping by. " Jerry put the Sunny Delight back in the refrigerator and the glass into the dishwasher. "Always happy to serve you."

Kramer winked and shot a finger gun at Jerry and Elaine, then pulled open the door. George was on the other side, reaching a hand out to the knob. "Georgie boy." A smile covered Kramer's face.

"No." George said and stepped into the room.

"Oh, come on George. I have to go out to Bob Sacamano's new house."

"Then definitely, 'no.' You know what happened the last time I went out there. They treated me like a common criminal. One old man who was working in his garden even set his dogs on me."

Jerry stopped ironing. "You ARE a common criminal."

"Reformed." George reminded.

"Come on, George," Elaine said. "They were just dachshunds."

"But they were ferocious. I still have the indentations in my Achilles' tendon from where one of them bit me." He put his foot forward as if to show them the wound. "I had every right to be there. Stupid gated communities!"

"If none of you will take me, then I'll see if Newman will." Kramer disappeared behind the door.

"So do you want to go to Monk's? Or catch a movie?" George asked.

Jerry disappeared around the corner. George grabbed an apple out of a bowl on the coffee table. He leaned back and put up his feet.

"Can't. Have a meeting." The voice floated in from around the corner.

"With his parole officer." Elaine intoned.

"The blonde with the little frown? Officer Anderson? Denise Anderson, right?" George rubbed the apple on his shirt and then examined it. "With that frown, how do you ever know when you are doing anything right? I'd hate to be her lover. Afterward you'd always be uncertain you had pleased her."

Elaine remained silent.

George took a bite of the apple and then shouted to Jerry, "I've got to get out, Jerry." Then he looked at Elaine. "My parents are driving me crazy." After getting out of jail, George had moved back into his parent's house.

Jerry reappeared with his blue pinstriped shirt on and neatly tucked in to his size thirty-one jeans.

"Last night I even considered knocking over a liquor store, nostalgic for my cellmate, Sweaty Eddy. I'd prefer to wake up every morning with his hairy, slippery arms wrapped around me than to listen to these two argue every night."

"You know. I could have sworn I saw Eddy the other night on Broadway. He looked like he was headed to some show. Les Miserables, I think."

"How did you know it was him?" Elaine asked.

"Well, I can't be sure, but it looked like he was wearing George's autographed Yankees hat."

"That hat bought me many a quiet night. I might have you know. I do miss that hat."

Elaine gasped. "You know, now that you mention it. I think I heard there was some sort of a problem at that showing of Les Miserables, and a guy in a Yankee's hat was arrested.

"That's a shame." Jerry led them to the door and followed them out.

**3 Bob Sacamano's House**

Kramer stood near the pool at Bob Sacamano's house. His swimsuit still glistened, and a towel was draped over his shoulder. A woman walked past. Kramer winked and said, "Giddy-up." She stopped.

Her bikini was lined with faux diamond studs. "Have you seen Bob anywhere?"

"No." Kramer said. "He's probably inside. Maybe in the kitchen. I'll go with you to look." Kramer shot a glance at Newman. He was dancing with a brunette who looked a lot like the female Superman Jerry had dated a few years earlier. Newman waved.

The kitchen was empty. And the living room was quiet.

On the table a letter had been left. Kramer thought that perhaps Bob had gone out to get some more supplies.

"You know." The girl said. "No one has seen Bob at all. He's this mysterious, absent host, kind of like the guy in _The Great Gatsby_."

"You mean Gatsby."

"Yeah. That's what I said. Like in the movie _The Great Gatsby_."

Kramer picked up the letter. It was short. Just a couple of lines: "_Julian, I know you'll be back on the fourth of September, but don't expect me to be here. I'm leaving you. Vanessa._" Who were Julian and Vanessa? And why were they leaving messages in Bob's house?" Kramer searched through the rest of the house, and then went outside to find Bob's car. It was nowhere to be seen. He returned to the house and tried the doorknob. Locked. He rang the doorbell. No one answered.

He went around to the side gate. Wouldn't budge. It must have latched and gotten stuck. American Woman blasted on the stereo in the back yard. He could imagine Newman dancing with the female Superman.

Kramer tried to jump, so someone might see that he was out there. Nothing. The fence was tall. And if they saw anything, it would simply be a dark tuft of tousled hair appearing and disappearing over the top of the fence.

Kramer decided he would just wait-walk around the neighborhood until Newman left the party.

No more than a few doors down, a man and a woman walking their dogs—a pair of dachshunds—approached him.

"You must be new in the neighborhood. We're Bill and Diana Freeman. We live down the street at 1222."

Kramer froze and stared at the dogs.

"Do you like the neighborhood?" Diana said

Kramer nodded apprehensively, and told them that he hadn't ever experienced any place quite as peaceful.

"Well, you know. We've been infiltrated by some bad seeds. We had some guy come through last week saying something about Sacajawea and love birds. Everyone thought he was crazy, or one of those bands of con artists who wait until someone is away on vacation and take over their house. The girls, Larsyn and Lola, (she motioned toward the dachshunds) managed to run him off before the police could get here. But I think the police impounded his car." Diana leaned in closer. "So you be careful, and we'll see you around."

"You sure will." Kramer said. His steps were more relaxed now.

A few more houses down, he saw an older man working in his garden. "Well, hello." The man said. "It's good to see a new face in the neighborhood."

"It's good to be here."

They talked for a while and the man invited Kramer in for dinner "Our cook has just made us a wonderful leg of lamb, and we certainly can't finish it."

Kramer followed him into the house.

**4 Monk's Diner**

"It's all your fault." Jerry placed the creamer back on the table. One of the waitresses at Monk's Diner brought George a sandwich and a plate of fries.

"YOU did it to me." Jerry said. "We were making love."

"You and the parole officer?"

"Yes. And when I lay down next to her—by the light of the street lamps, I could see that frown. And all I could think was: 'have I done something wrong?' I can't handle it. The never knowing whether or not it was pleasurable for her."

"Did you ask?" George put ketchup on his fries.

"Of course, I asked. But there it was the whole time she was telling me she liked it. That little frown was disagreeing with everything her voice said."

"Well, there's only one thing for you to do. You have to break up with her. Otherwise the uncertainty will kill you."

"But she's my parole officer. I can't break up with her. She'll send me back to prison."

George shrugged his shoulders and popped a ketchup-dipped fry in his mouth.

Kramer strode up to the table and slid in beside George. He reached onto George's plate and grabbed a fry. "It's the towel, Jerr."

"What's the towel?" George moved his plate away from Kramer and leaned over it with both arms astride the dish as he had learned in prison. But still Kramer was able to dip the fry in the Ketchup and eat it.

"Kramer thinks a towel is what gave him the inside track with the people in the rich neighborhood."

"Those are horrible people." George began. "They think they live in this little Utopia away from us, the great unwashed. Their gates and their security guards. Are these things that make them better than us? We should be able to go wherever we want without being hounded or considered less of a human being just because we haven't been able to achieve as much, or because we don't have as much money, or just for the fact that we've made a mistake or two in our lives."

Jerry patted George on the hand, "Do you feel a little better now, Jean Valjean?"

George shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich.

Kramer turned back to Jerry, "No really. That's got to be it. They saw me with towel, and that's what made them think I was one of them. I had just been in my pool, and now I was taking a walk." Kramer waved at a waitress and pointed at George's fries. "I tested it again today. I went into the neighborhood with a towel over my shoulder and walked around."

"And?" Jerry said over his cup of coffee.

"I've been invited to a dinner party at James and Edith's house tomorrow. The entire neighborhood is going to be there."

Elaine entered the café and sat next to Jerry. She reached across the table and took a fry from George's plate. He gave her a look, but she raised a finger, and he lowered his eyes to the table. "You are looking at the next great author at Pendant Publishing. They really think my story could be the next exposé on the criminal justice system."

"That's great." Jerry said. "So now I guess all you have to do is sit down and write it."

"Not a problem. They've given me a year. I can do that."

"Have you tried to put anything on paper yet?" George asked.

"A couple of paragraphs. It was slow-going at first, but I think I'm really starting to hit my stride." She stole another fry from George. "So how is the lady parole officer?"

"Awful. And it's all George's fault." Jerry said.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure I can look at her after sex anymore."

"Well, Jerome," She said, her voice very serious. "You had better not screw this up for me. I've heard about jilted police women. You know the saying about a woman scorned? Well, now imagine that with a gun. She'll take revenge and put us ALL back in prison." She stuck a finger in Jerry's face. "I won't go back to that stinking hell hole for you, Jerry. I'm a free woman. And I've got a literary masterpiece ahead of me."

**5 Pendant Publishing Office**

"Elaine, I've had a chance to read over the pages you emailed me." Vicky Gomez, an editor at Pendant Publishing, sat in a burgundy wing-back chair across the desk. She was thumbing through loose-leaf pages without actually looking at them.

Elaine swallowed hard, "Pretty good, huh?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what I should feel about your work." She stopped thumbing through the pages, found a specific passage and began to read, "The warden was tough, probably the toughest woman in the entire prison—as tough as her brown, calf-skin loafers that come in women's sizes six through ten. These casual, yet fashionable shoes go well with a pleated skirt, a five-button pull-over and the urban sombrero." Vicky pulled off her glasses. "And the rest of it reads like an extended advertisement for orange overalls with a shiv as an accent piece."

"Well, I…" Elaine reached in her pocket.

"I'm just not sure if I can sell this type of book."

Inside the pocket was a knife Elaine had fashioned from a spoon while in prison. It felt comforting in her hand. Then she thought about being locked up. She thought about the women she had to slap around to secure her position as the alpha. She said quietly, "I'm not the same person I was before. It's the prison. And you should just be careful. Who knows? You could have an accident tonight. Fall down a flight of stairs or something."

The look on Vicky's face changed. She sat up straighter and handed the papers across to Elaine. "I suppose I can let you rewrite it. I'm sure it just needs some polishing."

Elaine snatched the pages from Vicky's hands and backed out of the office.

**6 Jerry's Apartment (Again)**

The apartment door was opened a crack when Jerry returned home from a date with Denise. His first thought was: a burglar. But the noise got louder and the movements sounded less efficient. That's when he knew.

"Kramer, what are you doing?" he called before entering the apartment. "I thought you were supposed to be at your dinner party."

"I was, Jerr. I came back early because of the barbeque." Kramer was rummaging through a drawer. "Do you have any tongs and spatulas?"

"Yeah, bottom right corner." He sat down at the bar. "What barbeque?"

"The one I'm hosting at my house Saturday." Kramer came up with a soup ladle.

"But you don't have a house."

"I know, Jerr. But I don't have a choice. I told them we would celebrate. It's only right. Tonight they elected me president of the neighborhood association. And you can't just take that role without paying back all of the little people who have supported you throughout your campaign." He waved the ladle. It came out of his hands and flew across the room, knocking over Superman.

**7 Officer Anderson's Apartment**

Jerry lay in bed panting and staring at the ceiling. The rumpled sheets covered him to his shoulders, but he wanted them over his head. His eyes were strangely drawn to Denise's mouth, but he would force them back up to the ceiling before they brought a gaze upon her. The ceiling was safe. He would simply stare upward and focus on his heart rate and his breathing. That was the safest thing to do. "In and out. In and out." He said under his breath.

"Did you say something?" Her voice floated across the pillows. It didn't matter what the voice had said. What he heard was "look at the frown."

"No." Jerry closed his eyes tight. His voice was shrill.

"I can tell something's wrong. Look at me."

"No." He brought his eyelids closed even tighter.

"Jerry. Come on."

"All right. All right. I can't fight it anymore." He took one long look, and there it was, sitting disapprovingly above her chin. A sad and disappointed little arch. "I can't do this anymore. I can't take it. I'll never know whether you are satisfied. It's that mouth." He pointed at her. "I have to break up with you." He reached for his pants.

"OK." Her answer was strangely calm.

"OK?" He froze with one leg in the pants and one leg still out.

"OK."

"You mean you aren't going to send me back to prison?"

"Why would I do that, Jerry. Have you done something wrong?" She was like good cop and bad cop rolled into one. "Is there something I should be aware of?"

Jerry couldn't stop himself. The words just came pouring out of his mouth. He told her the entire story of the rich neighborhood—from George's fleeing the police to Kramer's ruse about owning a house.

She took out a pen and paper and wrote everything down.

**8 Jerry's Apartment (For godsake not again!)**

When Jerry arrived home, he knocked on Kramer's door. No answer. He turned around and began to enter his own apartment, when he noticed that the door wasn't locked. Inside, Elaine was on the couch, with a bottle of Hennigans in her hand.

"I can't go back, Jerry."

"Back where?"

"To that cage." She took a shot of whiskey. "My editor called the cops on me."

"For what?"

"I might have, sort of, threatened her a little. When I arrived home, the police were surrounding my apartment. I just turned around and came here."

"So now I'm harboring a fugitive?"

She nodded.

"Give me that." He snatched the bottle of Hennigans out of her hand and took a big swig.

**9 Kramer's House?**

The next afternoon, Kramer flipped a burger and winked at a woman getting out of the pool. She waved back and tilted her head to the side.

"Cosmo, could I borrow your towel?"

The towel was draped over his right shoulder.

"Pretty please." She said, sidling up to him and putting a soft hand on his upper arm, and then sliding it under the towel.

"I'm sorry, I can't let you have this. There are some towels inside the house."

"But I'm freezing, Cosmo. There's such a chill in the air." She kissed him on the cheek.

"Well, I…uh."

And she slipped the towel right off his shoulder and around her thin, beautiful body. "You're such a sweetie, Cosmo. Really you are." She kissed her finger and touched the tip of his nose.

The burger he was cooking had dripped grease on to the coals. A trail of fire followed the grease up to the patty which burst in to flame. Kramer was just about to scream when Steven Dixon, the former president of the neighborhood association approached. Kramer had unseated him from a position he had held for the past ten years.

"So, Cosmo, this is your house, huh?"

"You bet." Kramer's attention was pulled completely away from the grill. The patties became unrecognizable charred hunks of flesh. Jerry's spatula shook in Kramer's hand.

"This was the McKenzies' house, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." His voice was no more than a squeak. He started to look around for the girl with the towel, but she was nowhere to be found.

"Funny, I don't remember it ever being put on the market. As a matter of fact, they told me they were just going out of town for the weekend.

The sun had somehow grown hotter. Sweat poured down Kramer's face.

"I was even supposed to water their plants and feed their dog." He pointed to a Rottweiler that earlier had been confined to a pen. Now it stood among the guests and snarled at Kramer—a look of pure evil in its eyes.

Kramer could feel everything unraveling before him.

"And you know what else? I met some people out in the front yard. You might know them."

Jerry, Elaine and George stood near the gate with their hands cuffed in front of them. George sobbed openly, Elaine scowled and shouted "you hipster doofus," and Jerry waved with a silly grin on his face.

Kramer searched again for the girl with the towel. She was standing at the other side of the yard. He turned to look at George, Elaine and Jerry before making a run for the towel. But there she was, Denise Anderson with her blonde hair, her ever-present frown and a pair of handcuffs that she slapped around his wrists.

**10 Back in Prison**

"Cosmo Kramer," a guard's voice shouted, and the cell door opened.

Kramer opened his eyes and sat up on his prison bunk.

The guard, a thick, bald man with a goatee, stood outside the cell. "The warden wants to see you."

Kramer paused. "Me?"

The raucous sound of prisoners echoed through the cell block. A metal cup was being pounded against the bars of a cell. A prisoner was making kissing sounds. Another shouted "Here piggy, piggy, piggy."

Kramer started to walk out the door, but before he did, he reached down and grabbed a terrycloth towel that was lying on his bunk.

"Kramer, my man." One of the prisoners said from the cell across the block.

The guard said, "The warden sure has taken a liking to you, Kramer. This the third time this week that he has called you in for a chess game."

Kramer's gait changed to a swagger.

Jerry stared out at him from one cell and just a few cells down, George lay on his bunk with the arms of Sweaty Eddy wrapped tightly around him.


End file.
